


Dashing (Crashing) Through the Snow

by halcyon_autumn



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Discussions about a dead body, F/M, Ghosts, I know it sounds dark, Inspired by the 1994 movie The Santa Clause with Tim Allen, Listen there's a lot of absurdism here, M/M, Occult Shenanigans, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, Temporary Character Death, but I promise it's just very VERY silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon_autumn/pseuds/halcyon_autumn
Summary: Sylvain looked up to see Ingrid, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were trained on the probably dead man, sprawled between them like a blow-up lawn Santa that had started to deflate. Slowly, her gaze moved, pinning Sylvain in place. “Sylvain,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “Did you just kill Santa?”Inspired by the 1994 movie "The Santa Clause," Sylvain's Christmas party takes sharp turn for the macabre when the actual Santa Claus slips off his roof and dies. Soon Sylvain finds himself roped into becoming the new Santa, Ingrid at his side, while their friends scramble to find them a way out.
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier, background Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 40
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Hey Rachelle," you say, "this fic crashes through about 7 genres with all the subtlty of a drunk redneck in a Ford F-150."
> 
> "It's an artistic choice," I mutter. 
> 
> "Hey Rachelle, it looks like you use third person limited pov AND third person omniscient, which is not really a thing you can do."
> 
> "Artistic choice!" I say louder.
> 
> In all seriousness, please enjoy this extremely silly fic I wrote to process my very traumatic memories of the Tim Allen movie "The Santa Clause." Tim Allen will not be appearing because I don't like him. It is important to me that you know that I don't like Tim Allen.
> 
> I wrote this fic like every character was in a slightly different story. I'd love to hear what vibe you got from all the characters if you feel like telling me :)

Up until a man died, Sylvain thought the party was going well.

Yeah, okay, no party was perfect. Annette brought inedible cookies that Sylvain had to feed to the dog on the sly. Felix sat in the corner and scowled. Ingrid still had not fallen madly in love with him. All of these things were frustrating.

But Annette somehow convinced Felix to wear reindeer antlers, and Mercedes brought the gingerbread cookies that she _only_ made for Christmas. Ashe brought his legendary eggnog, which was spiked with rum and the only kind of eggnog Sylvain would drink. Dedue brought his special ham that was probably glazed with cocaine or something. Sylvain would have killed a man for that ham. Well, maimed. Well, mildly stabbed. And Ingrid was _there,_ smiling and joyful, so even if she wasn’t in love with him he was primed for a wonderful Christmas Eve with friends. 

“This is a lovely party,” Mercedes told him. It was nearly midnight, and he’d expected people to head home by now. But his friends were all still there, playing board games and sipping hot cocoa. It warmed Sylvain’s heart to see it, though he never would have let it show. But Mercedes saw everything.

“I’m glad,” he said, smiling as Ashe tried (and failed) to wrestle the Christmas playlist away from Felix. “It’s nice to be with people.” It was safe to admit that to Mercedes. She wouldn’t think less of him.

And indeed, Mercedes merely smiled and bumped him with her shoulder. “So when are you just going to go ahead and ask everyone to come here for Christmas day? You get so sad when you spend it alone.”

Sylvain muttered something vague and noncommittal. Mercedes, sensing weakness, pressed her advantage. “Felix would love an excuse to avoid his family, and Ingrid would make time for you if you’d just ask. Neither Dedue nor I live anywhere near ours, so we could certainly come for a few hours. Annette and Ashe would be with their families, yes, but I bet they’d come the day after. And Dimitri - ”

“He always spends the day with his stepsister,” Sylvain stammered, desperate to stop Mercedes’ avalanche of good advice. “Well, his stepsister and her weird roommate.”

“Oh yes, Hubert.” Mercedes took a sip of her eggnog. And then, casually, said “I used to date him, you know.”

Sylvain spat his drink out.

“Oh dear,” Mercedes said, grabbing a paper towel. “You’ve got hot chocolate all over your shirt.”

Sylvain ignored this. “Hubert von Vestra?” He asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“The one who dresses like a haunted carnival barker?”

“That’s him.”

“The one who looks like the ghost of a dead Prussia count, come to haunt the descendents of those who slew him?”

“The very same.”

Sylvain stared at the floor, looking as if he was working out a complex calculus problem. Finally, he looked back at Mercedes. “Was the sex good, at least?”

Mercedes considered his question. “Yup. Pretty good.”

“Ew, ew, ew” Sylvain said, covering his eyes. “I can’t know this! I can’t know that you slept with the discount vampire man!”

Mercedes was laughing so hard that Annette and Dedue turned around to stare at them. “I didn’t mean to emotionally scar you, but you _did_ ask.”

“Man wasn’t meant to have this knowledge,” Sylvain said solemnly, which just made her start laughing more.

Now that he’d finally distracted Mercedes from giving him (admittedly good) life advice, Sylvain was free to make his way around the room. Without even really planning it, he made his way towards Ingrid. She and Ashe were sitting on the couch, arguing good naturedly about what would happen on the next episode of their favorite tv show. 

He was always aware of where Ingrid was in a room. Even when he talked to Mercedes or ate some of Dedue’s ham, her mere presence burned into his awareness like some sort of psychic afterimage. It had been like this for over a year. Mercedes was the only one who’d talked to him about it, but Sylvain sometimes wondered if everyone knew and was just waiting for him to get up the nerve to tell her.

They’d be waiting a long damn time. Sylvain had chased after plenty of girls in his time, but he’d been trying to be more responsible over the past year. But that didn’t erase years of him screwing around and cheating on every he dated. Ingrid had soothed angry girls (and their angry siblings) plenty of times through their high school years. She’d finally let him crash headfirst into the consequences of his actions in college. He wasn’t sure if she’d forgiven him, and he certainly wasn’t sure if she’d want to date him after seeing the full extent of what a disaster he was. 

But all the knowledge didn’t keep his chest from growing warm as she smiled up at him. He told himself it was just Ashe’s eggnog kicking in. “Hey,” he said, leaning against the wall beside her. “How’s it going.”

She smiled up at him. “Good! Ashe and I were just arguing over what was going to happen in the next episode of _Maiden of Wind.”_

“Ingrid thinks that Loog and Kyphon are walking into a trap,” Ashe said. “But I think that they’ve been foreshadowing the dual nature of the witches’ curse, and we’re going to find out that Kyphon’s has unknown powers.”

“Then why didn’t we see them during the last battle?” Ingrid asked. Sylvain had never watched the show and couldn’t have cared less about the weird medieval plot, but he loved seeing Ingrid passionate about something. “His powers should have kicked in there.”

“Well, in the books his curse doesn’t work during the new moon. They already brought in the silver lance storyline, so they might be bringing in the expanded curse stuff from the books too.”

Sylvain knew Ingrid well enough to know she was battling between absolutely flinging herself into the argument with the intensity of the high school debate champion she was or restraining herself and preserving her friendship with Ashe. The latter won out. “We’ll see what happens,” she said.

His heart stopped briefly as Ingrid leaned in close to him. She was saying something, and he tried to focus on her words instead of the sheer nearness of her, the way the firelight cast all her features into sharp relief, the little ring of blue around around her pupils that faded into green, the - 

“- told him that was fine, but he wants a second opinion,” Ingrid said. “He listens to you about this sort of stuff.”

Aaaaaand he’d missed everything that she said. 

He mentally kicked himself - this was the third time that had happened this _week_ \- and smiled. “Sure thing, Ing.”

Then he waltzed over to Dimitri, trying to focus. He couldn’t keep _doing_ that.

Dimitri was standing off to the side of the room, looking at Sylvain’s Christmas tree. “Hey, big guy,” Sylvain said, sidling up beside him. Hopefully he could just subtly bring up to Dimitri that -

“Oh, Sylvain, thank goodness,” Dimitri said, sighing as if he had the weight of the world on his wide shoulders. “I’ve gotten a Christmas gift for Dedue, but I’m just worried that I didn’t get the proper thing.”

“I’m sure the gift is fine,” Sylvain said. “What did you get?”

“Oh, knives.”

Sylvain stared at Dimitri for several painfully long seconds. “Did you. Did you just say. Did you just say that you bought _knives_ for your boyfriend?”

Dimitr’s face had gone startling pale. “I thought it was a good idea! The woman at Williams Sonoma assured me that the Zwilling J.A. Henckels Four Star 8 piece knife block set would make a great gift!”

For another long moment, Sylvain paused. “A knife block set - _chef’s_ knives. You got him knives for cooking.”

“Yes, of course,” Dimitri said. “What other kinds of knives would I get him? Throwing knives?”

“I dunno man. We grew up with Felix.” He reached out and patted Dimitri on the shoulder. “He’s gonna love it.” Dimitri beamed, his demeanor restored to that of a particularly pleased golden retriever.

Sylvain made his way back towards Ingrid, Mercedes’ advice rattling around in his brain. _Ingrid would make time for you if you’d just ask._

She was alone now, and sipping hot chocolate as she plopped down on his loveseat. Once again, meeting her eyes momentarily knocked him out of his body and gave him the best kind of vertigo. “Hey,” he said, settling down beside her. The universe was punishing him for all the people he’d cheated on and used before deciding to clean up his life. His hands were sweaty, and all he was doing was talking to her as a _friend._ “I was wondering - I mean, I don’t do Christmas with my parents, and it’s sort of last minute but -”

There was a tremendous _thunk_ from the roof of Sylvain’s house. Conversation ceased.

“What was that?” Annette whispered, grabbing a throw pillow as if to use it as a shield. “Some sort of squirrel or something falling out of a tree?”

There was another thump, this one slightly softer.

“Uh, I’m gonna go check on that,” Sylvain said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” He tugged his coat out of the closet, wrapping it around him as he stepped outside. 

It was cold, cold enough that he flinched the moment he opened the door. They had not been gifted a white Christmas this year, but the night had its own beauty. This late, most of the city had gone to sleep, and Sylvain was struck by the strange feeling that he was the only person awake in the entire world.For one silvery moment it was perfect - the velvet sky, strewn with stars, his breath misting out of his mouth in a way that always seemed slightly magical, and the knowledge that he had a warm group of friends to return to.

Then he saw a flash of red above him and realized that a human being was climbing around on his fucking roof.

“Hey!” he yelled, jogging a few feet away from his door to get a better look. “Are you drunk?”

Several things happened in very short succession.

One, Sylvain saw a portly man dressed in red and white, with a flowing white beard, blue eyes, and an enormous bag thrown over his shoulder standing on his roof.

Two, Sylvain reverted back to being a seven year old child and assumed this man was Santa Clause. Seven year old Sylvain had an intense potty mouth, so he swore. Loudly.

_“Shit!”_

Three, the man-who-must-be-Santa jumped in surprise, lost his footing, and slipped.

Fourth, he slid off Sylvain’s roof and dropped to the ground. There was a tremendous _crack_ as he hit the ground.

Sylvain stayed very still. The man also stayed very still. 

After several moments, Sylvain inched closer. “Hey, uh, buddy? Are you alright?”

The man did not respond.

“Sylvain?”

Sylvain looked up to see Ingrid, standing in the doorway. Her eyes were trained on the probably dead man, sprawled between them like a blow-up lawn Santa that had started to deflate. Slowly, her gaze moved, pinning Sylvain in place. “Sylvain,” she whispered, her voice low and dangerous. “Did you just kill Santa?”

****

“Santa isn’t real,” Felix hissed.

Sylvain and his friends were all standing in a ring around the man. Everyone was very quiet, and Sylvain found himself sliding into a strange, dissociative state. No one quite knew what to say except for Felix, who sought refuge in the best way he knew how - having a generally bad temper.

“Should someone check for a pulse?” Ashe asked, his eyes darting from the body to his friends. 

Everyone shifted uncomfortably before Mercedes said “really, all of you?” and knelt beside the man. After several tense seconds, she shook her head. “Nothing.”

Annette made a high pitched squeak and shuffled backwards, right beside Ashe. Dimitri flinched as if he’d been slapped in the face, and Sylvain - Sylvain was staring at a crooked blade of grass, too afraid to look at his friends. 

He had a moment, despite his growing horror, to recognize that his reaction was wrong. A man was dead. He was at least somewhat….not responsible, exactly, but involved. And he did feel bad for that, he _did,_ but mostly he felt fear clawing at his throat that his friends would never, ever, want to be near him again.

“Do we call 911?” Ashe asked. “I mean, I suppose -”

“No!”

Sylvain’s heart leapt into his throat as he saw a second figure appear on the roof. This was a rather short girl - like, under-four-feet-short - with sea-green hair and pale skin. Her clothes were also red, and oddly old fashioned. She looked like a festive victorian child, especially when she wagged her finger at them. “No, we mustn’t get the human police involved!”

Everyone stared at her.

“Um,” Dimitri said, “why - why not?”

“Because,” she said, and stamped her foot. “there’s no time! We have to save Christmas!”

Everyone stared some more.

Finally, Sylvain raised his hand. “Um, miss -”

“Flayn,” she said.

“Miss Flayn,” he said. “Uh, who are you?”

She sighed. “I am an elf! That is Santa Claus! And, since he’s dead, _you_ are now responsible for taking upon you the mantle of St Nick -”

“Sorry, he’s who?”

“-and continuing the centuries old tradition of Christmas-”

“Is this a bit?” “- lest millions of children wake up in the morning to discover that no one has left them presents!” Undeterred by Sylvain’s interruptions, Flayn had worked herself into such a state that she looked near tears. “The children will cry! They’ll never believe in Santa again! The spirit of Christmas will be dealt a blow it may never recover from!”

For a moment no one spoke. Flayn’s words hung heavy in the air, their implications massive. The weight of her pronouncement seemed unbreakable, until finally Ingrid cleared her throat.

“Wait, so you’re an elf?”

Flayn facepalmed.

Admittedly, her story seemed much more believable once she ordered them to the other side of the house, where a massive sleigh and nine reindeer were standing on the roof.

“Huh,” said Dedue, staring up at the scene above them. “This is unexpected.” 

“Okay,” Sylvain said, gesturing at the reindeer. “That’s - that’s fairly convincing.”

Flayn nodded. “Good. Now hurry! As the one who killed Santa, you are obligated to take his place.”

“Now hang on! I didn’t kill him, I just yelled at the weirdo on my roof and he slipped!” Sylvain yelled. “I’m not - I’m not going to become Santa Claus!”

Flayn’s eyes went wide. “But you must! Or one of you must, if you are too craven to accept the responsibility! There must always be a Santa Claus. The ancient laws demand it. _Who_ it is may change - and has, throughout the centuries - but there must always be one!” 

Sylvain could not believe that after a lifetime of avoiding responsibility, karma had come for him like _this._ “Is it a lifetime thing?” He asked, mouth going dry. “I mean, can I do it once and then find someone else?”

Flayn considered this. “Well, it would be extremely irresponsible and selfish not to accept the burden since, as I mentioned, you did kill the previous Santa. But yes, theoretically you can pass the responsibility onto another.”

“I’ll do it.”

Everyone turned to look at Ingrid, who was biting her lip and looking very uncertain about the statement she’d just made.

Something inside Sylvain’s chest cracked. “Ingrid,” he whispered, not knowing how he was going to finish the sentence. “You don’t -”

Ingrid ignored him and made her way over to one of the trees. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice tight. “Someone give me a boost into this tree so I can climb onto the roof.”

Sylvain didn’t remember moving, just the way Ingrid’s arm shook slightly as he grabbed it. “What are you doing?”

Ingrid looked at him and actually smiled, something small and sad. “Cleaning up your mess,” she said. He could tell she meant it to be a joke, but the reality of the situation made him wish she’d simply kicked him in the stomach instead.

“The job really is not that bad,” Flayn called from the roof.

“This is the sort of thing you’ve spent your whole life avoiding.” Ingrid couldn’t quite seem to meet his eyes. “You’ve finally cut off your parents and gotten your life together. I’m so - I’m so proud of you,” she whispered fiercely, and the sound of it made him unable to breath. “And for you to lose that now - I can’t let that happen.”

“You only have to work one night a year!” Flayn shouted.

Sylvain looked deeply into Ingrid’s eyes, feeling the same draw towards her that he always did. “I can’t let you do this.”

She shrugged, but he could see the tears in her eyes. “I’m a disappointment to my family,” she said. “I didn’t fulfill any of their hopes for me, and this - this would matter.”

“You don’t want it,” Sylvain said. “Ing, look at me, _please._ I know you don’t want this. Forced to throw present’s down people’s chimneys for centuries?”

“Really, it is quite a nice job!” Flayn’s voice had gotten increasingly loud. “I really feel like you are making this into something it isn’t! You can still see your friends and everything!”

“I know what I’m doing,” Ingrid said, turning away from him. “Just let me do this, alright?”

Sylvain shook his head. “No. I’m taking responsibility for my choices now. That’s what you’re so proud of, isn’t it?”

Flayn sighed. “You get the ability to fly around on a magical sleigh! You can keep your day job if you really want to, although usually we elves provide a stipend! Honestly, unless you are bothered by living for centuries, there’s really no downsides to the job!”

“You’re so stubborn.” Ingrid reached up and gently placed her hand on the side of Sylvain’s face. His heart nearly stopped right there. “But I meant what I said. I’m doing this.”

He grabbed her hand before she could remove it from her face. “Then I’m doing it too. We can do it together.”

Her eyes widened. “Are - are you sure?”

He wasn’t. His heart was pounding, and somewhere in the back of his mind, his instincts were screaming that he was locking himself into something he couldn’t get out of. But looking at Ingrid, watching that slow smile spread across her face, was a better high than any doubt or anxiety could outweigh. 

“We’ll both do it!” He called up to Flayn. “Together.”

Flayn shrugged. “Uh, okay then. It is not really typical, though there is precedent for a Mr and Mrs Claus -”

“Wait!”

Ashe stepped towards the house, looking up at Flayn. “Do you offer health insurance?”

Flayn’s nose wrinkled. “What’s that?”

Ashe looked at her for several seconds, then shook his head. “Nevermind.” He turned to Ingrid and Sylvain and gave them a big thumbs up. “You guys are gonna do great!”

Sylvain hefted Ingrid up in the tree, and the two made their way onto the roof and into the sleigh. Sylvain was struck by the fact that they were sitting in _Santa’s sled._ It looked old. The sled was made of some sort of intricately carved wood, painted a festive red. He noticed that the paint was chipped and peeling in a few spots, and it was strange to think that something so mundane as the passage of time affected Santa’s magic sleigh.

The dashboard, for lack of a better term, was filled with fancy looking buttons and levers that Sylvain couldn’t begin to guess the purpose of. He reached a hand out and was rewarded by a smack from Flayn. “Do not touch that,” she said, pointing a finger at him.

Everything was beginning to take on an unreal, dreamlike quality. He wasn’t really being yelled at by an elf. He hadn’t really volunteered to become Santa Claus. Ingrid wasn’t really sitting beside him, his thigh warm where it pressed against hers. 

He reach to take the reins for the magical fucking reindeer, which was one of the less bizarre things that had happened today. Ingrid immediately smacked his hand away. “Nope,” she said. “I’m driving.”

“Uh, I think I’m the one who volunteered to be Santa Claus,” Sylvain said. “So actually, I’m in charge.” Ingrid tried to grab the reins again, and he yanked them away from her. One of the reindeer turned back and looked at him with an absolutely baleful eye. Someone sure seemed peeved about the new management.

Sylvain sighed. “Hey, Flayn? Which one of us is in charge?”

“Not you,” Flayn said immediately.

Ingrid grinned as she took the reins. “Suck it.”

***

Everyone huddled together as Ingrid and Sylvain rose into the air. The sleigh rocked for one precarious moment, then rocketed away in a blur of red, leaving behind a barely perceptible scent of pine, gingerbread, and cinnamon.

“That,” Annette said after a long pause, “was so weird.” She glanced down at the body on the dead brown grass of Sylvain’s lawn. “Hey. Um. Should we do something about him?”

Felix snorted. “You mean the corpse?”

“Yes, Felix, I mean the corpse, specifically Santa’s corpse, I fact I was _intentionally_ avoiding saying because if I think about it too hard I will actually have a breakdown. Thank you soooooo much for pointing it out.”

“Perhaps we should move him to the garage,” Dedue suggested.

Annette grabbed full fistfuls of her hair as she turned to him. “ _We can’t put Santa’s dead body in the garage.”_

“I have an idea,” Felix said with a sigh. Rather than communicating his idea in a clear manner, he stared aggressively at Dimitri. 

Dimitri frowned. Felix glared harder. Dimitri opened his mouth, hesitated, and then shook his head. This made Felix roll his eyes in an extremely dramatic fashion, which finally prompted Dimitri to pull out his phone and say “I’ll call her.”

Twenty minutes later, a sleek black sedan pulled up. A young woman stepped out, with pale skin and a shock of white hair. She was dressed in black slacks, a blood red cashmere sweater, and a long black coat. She nodded at Dimitri and Felix as she strode across the lawn in black pumps and stopped in front of the dead man.

“Are you sure he’s dead?” she asked as she bent down and felt for a pulse.

“He hasn’t moved in thirty minutes,” Dimitri said.

Ashe raised his hand into the air as if they were students in a third grade classroom. “Um, sorry, but who are you?”

The woman blinked several times at him. “Edelgard von Hresvelg,” she said. “I’m Dimitri’s step-sister.”

Felix cleared his throat. “Did you bring -”

“Yes,” Edelgard said. “You were right to call us. This is bad.” She turned to the car and gestured.

A man stepped out of the car. He was tall, paler even than Edelgard, with a shock of black hair and eyes so pale green that they almost looked yellow. He too stode across the lawn, his black coat flapping in the breeze, and came to a stop in front of the dead man. “Hmm,” he said, ignoring the confused stares directed his way by Ashe and Annette. “Yes,” I can work with this.”

Ashe raised his hand again. “Uh, what’s - what’s going on?”

The man’s lip curled slightly, although it wasn’t clear why. “It’s very simple. Edelgard and I are going to clean up your mess. Someone help me carry the body into the - Mercedes?”

Mercedes smiled despite the look of utter shock on the man’s face. “Hello, Hubert. Glad to see that you’re doing well.”

“You - you too,” Hubert said, thrown off his rhythm by her appearance. 

Edelgard cleared her throat. “As Hubert was saying, we need to carry the body inside. We can’t very well do a seance out here.”

Annette turned towards Edelgard with the glazed over look of someone who had found a last, single shred of hope she didn’t know she had, and then immediately lost it. “A seance?”

Hubert nodded. “Yes. If I’m going to bring Santa Claus back to life, a seance is the first logical step.”

“Of course,” Mercedes agreed. Annette buried her face in her hands. 


	2. Chapter 2

Ingrid gasped as the sleigh shot away and the world went strange. Light from street lamps and distant stars turned strangely liquid, like paint waiting to be mixed. Against all logic, Ingrid felt like the light would stick to her fingers, coat them in soft yellows and whites, if she could just reach it.

“What is that?” She asked Flayn, who was smacking buttons and flipping switches on the dashboard. There was no discernable pattern to it, but Flayn’s eyes were narrowed in concentration.

“Hmm?” Flynn asked. “Oh, that’s just a side effect of time stopping.”

“Time...stops?” Sylvain asked. Ingrid tried not to flush as his hand settled on her thigh. He was probably just trying to balance himself. “How is that possible?”

“Magic,” Flayn said. “How else could you make it to every house in the world?”

Ingrid’s mouth fell open, and she glanced back down. As the sleigh rose higher and higher, the world below looked more and more like an impressionist painting, with thousands of strings of Christmas lights turning the word into blurs of red, green, and white. 

She glanced over at Sylvain, a smile lighting up her face. “It’s beautiful.”

Sylvain was looking at her with the strangest expression. “ Yeah, it is,” he said, his voice so soft that Ingrid could barely hear it.

She smacked his arm. “You haven’t even looked!”

He blinked as if suddenly waking up from a dream. “Oh. Uh. Sure.” He glanced over the side of the sleigh, then yelped. “Holy shit!” 

“We are coming up on the next house!” Flayn shouted.”You two can take turns delivering presents. Are you prepared?”

“No,” Sylvain shouted back. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Flayn’s entire body seemed to slump. “Honestly, I was under the impression that humans had songs and movies about this. You simply take the big bag of toys in the back of the sleigh and hop down the chimney. Put down the small presents in the stockings and the big presents back under the tree. Then come back up the chimney, and we will all journey to the next house.”

Sylvain frowned. “Uh, how am I going to get up and down the chimney?” 

Flayn blinked at him. “Magic.”

Ingrid glanced at the almost comically large brown bag in the back of the sleigh. “How will we know which presents are for which house.”

“Also magic,” Flayn said. “The process will take care of itself as long as _you_ do not do anything stupid.”

“Alright,” Sylvain muttered. “Aren’t I supposed to have a red suit too?”

“Should we have robbed the corpse?” Ingrid asked. Sylvain glared at her. Instead of responding, Ingrid reached into the back of the sleigh and heaved the toy bag into the front seat. It was surprisingly light, and she overestimated and nearly fell over from the force of her pull. “There you go, Sylvain!” 

The sleigh landed with a thump. Sylvain climbed out with the bag thrown over his shoulders. He looked rather un-Santa like, with his bright red hair and white cable knit sweater. He siddled over to the chimney like it might bite him and stared down its depths.

“You’re sure this will work?” He asked. Ingrid knew him well enough to know that the tiny quiver in his voice indicated quite a bit of fear.

“Yes!” Flayn said. “Just hop in. Santas Clauses have been doing this for centuries.

Sylvain bit his lip and looked at her. Ingrid smiled and nodded, trying to project some sense of confidence. If the magic didn’t work, Sylvain would realize it once he stuck his leg in the chimney. He’d be fine. Probably.

Sylvain gave her a thumbs up and took a step forward. Then, in a moment deeply reminiscent of an episode of looney-toons, he zoomed down the chimney.

Ingrid squeaked. Flayn beamed. “See! It works perfectly fine. That is the power of the old magic, after all. It’s never failed someone who took on the mantle of Santa Claus.”

“Flayn,” Ingrid said, “how often is there a new Santa? You don’t seem upset about the old one being….”

“Dead?” Flayn asked. “Oh, I believe the longest a Santa lasted was a hundred and seventy-five years. Most make it around one hundred. We elves have learned not to get attached.”

“Thats - that’s _incredibly_ dark,” Ingrid said. “What happens to them? Do they all fall off of roofs?”

Flayn began ticking deaths off of her fingers. “Well, one fell asleep and crashed his sleigh. We started sending elves along after that. For a while there was a cult killing them off in the late eighteen hundreds; we lost quite a few that way. One really underestimated the airstream of a fighter jet. One -”

“A cult?” Ingrid squeaked. “Did you say _cult?”_

Flayn waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, do not fear! We took care of them. And we’ve loaded the sleigh with protective enchantments so that no one can sneak aboard and kill you! It was very embarassing the last time that happened.”

Ingrid stared at the roof for several moments. There were about six questions burning in her throat, and she couldn’t decide which one to ask first. “Hang on - if time is paused, how did a Santa get stuck in a jetstream? For that matter, how did the last guy fall off the roof?”

Flynn shrugged. “Well, we let time run a little bit so that we actually show up at the right time; if we freeze time when it is night in Australia, then it will still be daytime when we show up in the Western Hemisphere! It just so happened that both had rather terrible timing. I think tonight’s incident happened because Santa forgot he’d let time run, and your husband surprised him!”

“He’s not my husband,” Ingrid said immediately. “He’s not even my boyfriend.”

Flynn’s eyes grew wide. “But you’re going to be living together as Mr and Mrs Clause - oh, the impropriety! My brother will be horrified,” she said, with great delight. 

Ingrid was torn between the desire to ask more questions and a growing suspicion that she already knew far more than she wanted to about elf societal norms. She was spared by the sudden reappearance of Sylvain.

“Piece of cake!” He called, jobbing back over to the sleigh. “It went great - Flynn, why are you looking at me like that?”

Flayn’s eye had gone the size of the moon overhead. “You’re not married!” she said, evidently still delighted by the scandal.

Sylvain looked between the two of them. “Uh, no, we aren’t. Should we be?”

Ingrid blinked. “Are you suggesting that we _get married_?”

“Um, I mean we don’t have to,” Sylvain said. “I just thought - you know - might make things easier.”

Everything felt unreal again. Sylvain was proposing to her? Maybe? “Make what easier?” Ingrid asked.

“Uh,” Sylvain said, his usually silver tongue gone. “I mean - like, taxes and stuff.”

“You want to marry me for the _tax benefits?_ ”

“He loves you!” Flayn shrieked. All her animosity towards Sylvain had disappeared. “Oh, how terribly romantic! You swore to be Mr and Mrs Claus because of your deep love, and now you will live together for the rest of your lives, bringing joy to children the world over!”

“Sylvain doesn’t love me,” Ingrid said. She’d never seen Sylvain hesitate when there was a girl he wanted. If he’d wanted her, at any point, it would be obvious. And sure, her heart beat a little harder at the idea, and her own feelings threatened to burst out of the box she’d shoved them in, but that didn’t matter. 

She’d thought her comment would smooth things over, but Sylvain looked as though she’d slapped him. “Ingrid, you’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” she said, ignoring the painful way her chest constricted. Friendship was good - friendship was _wonderful_ \- but she wanted to also be the love of his life. And she wasn’t. Life went that way sometimes. “It’s okay, Sylvain. You don’t have to pretend.”

For the first time in many, many years, she couldn’t read the expression on his face. Did he look….hurt? “Listen, Ingrid - ”

“You two must work out your feelings afterwards!” Flayn cried. “We have more presents to deliver. To the next house!”

Ingrid took the reins, still watching Sylvain. He was clenching his jaw so hard that it made Ingrid’s mouth ache just to look at him. 

“Onward!” Flayn shouted. Ingrid flicked the reins, her heart weighed down even as the sleigh rose up.

***

“The first step is to sit in a circle,” Hubert intoned.

Ever since he’d announced a seance, Hubert did not seem to simply _say_ things. He intoned them. He declared them. He _pronounced_ them. It was clear to all parties that despite his frown, severe tone, and perpetual glower, he was absolutely having the time of his life. 

Annette and Ashe were not. “Are you _sure_ this is necessary?” Ashe asked. “I mean - a seance -”

“We’re going to talk to Santa’s _ghost,_ ” Annette said in a tone of utter despair. “His dead soul is going to say _words_ to us.”

Mercedes patted Annette on the shoulder. “Don’t worry Annie! It’s perfectly safe. I’ve done loads.”

Anette did not seem soothed by this. 

Hubert had ordered everyone to track down as many candles as they could. Fortunately, Sylvain had purchased several candles in preparation for the holiday season. Unfortunately, Sylvain’s mix of Merry Mimosa, Champagne Toast, and Winter White Woods jar candles were clearly not creating the ambiance he’d hoped for. He cleared his throat and glared at Annette and Ashe for further disrupting the mood. “As I said, the first step is to sit in a circle.”

“Are you sure I can’t just wait outside?” Ashe asked. When Hubert glared at him he sat down and reluctantly took Mercedes’ hand. “I just….this all sounds very strange.”

“To the uninitiated, I am sure it does.” Hubert had sat down as well, reaching out one hand to Dedue and the other (with some hesitation) to Mercedes. “But for a soul bound to the mantle of Santa, we must reach out and see if he is willing to return. The Old Magic will still have a grip on him, after all, but it will require quite a force of will to get his attention. Therefore, we need as many people to join the seance as possible.”

Dedue’s eyebrows rose. “I am not certain that I followed any of that.”

“Oh, basically when someone becomes Santa Claus their soul is bound to this earth,” Mercedes said cheerfully. “The creation of the role of Santa Claus involved very old magic, and technically when you become Santa you bind your soul to elven magic for all of eternity. So his soul should still be around. If we can get his attention, we may be able to convince him to return to his body. Once we do, he should become Santa Claus again. That will free up Sylvain and Ingrid.”

“Ah,” Dedue said. “I see. Thank you for clarifying.”

“Doesn’t that mean that Ingrid and Sylvain are now bound to….elven magic?” Dimitri asked. “What does that even mean?”

“I’m not certain that we have time for this,” Edelgard said. She had settled between Ashe and Annette. “We’ve got a dead body on the dining room table, after all.” She glanced meaningfully at the body they’d left on Sylvain’s table. Annette had insisted on covering it with a sheet, although Felix had argued that it only made things creepier. 

“Indeed,” Hubert said. “Everyone holding hands? Good. Everyone close your eyes and open yourself up to the whisperings of the great beyond.”

“Worst Christmas ever,” Ashe muttered as he shut his eyes.

For the first minute and a half, nothing seemed to happen; Hubert chanted in Latin in a low voice, and everyone else shifted in place or cracked an eye open to see if a ghost had appeared. But then the shadows seemed to deepen, becoming more saturated until they looked like bruises dappling the room. The light grew smaller but more piercing until it hurt to look at. The ordinary noises of life - the gentle hum of the refrigerator, the quiet burr of the heater - fell away. Everyone’s hands squeezed a little bit harder, even the seemingly unflappable Edelgard. 

“Come forth!” Hubert belowed, and Annette squeaked. Even Dimitri and Dedue glanced at each other for support. The shadows lengthened and twisted, stretching until they reached a central point in the circle.

“Oh!” Mercedes cried out. “He’s here!”

The shadows were beginning to solidify in a vaguely humanoid shape. As everyone watched with various degrees of horror (or, in Mercedes and Hubert’s case, absolute delight), limbs began to protrude and retract from the shadowy mass.

“Gross,” said Felix. 

The shadows began to take on normal colors, and then finally a recognizable form - a portly man, with a long white beard and red suit and hat. He looked around the circle, blue eyes brightening as he finally achieved some sort of sentience. 

“Alright,” said the ghost of Saint Nicholas himself. “Which one of you assholes tried to kill me?”

Felix tried to point at Dimitri, but Edelgard smacked his hand down before he got a chance.

“Technically, Sylvain just surprised you,” Mercedes pointed out. “I don’t want to pour salt on the wound, but you slid off the roof.”

The ghost of Father Christmas seemed fairly peeved to have this pointed out. He glowered at Mercedes, who was absolutely immune. “Fine,” he muttered. “Which one of you _surprised_ me into falling off a roof?”

“He’s not here,” Dimitri said. “He and Ingrid had to, uh, become you? I guess? And we were wondering if maybe you’d come back to your body and be Santa again so that they didn’t have to?”

Hubert, who had planned an impressive speech in order to ask this same question, glared at Dimitri for stealing his moment. But Santa Claus tilted his head, flickering as he debated Dimitri’s wordsi. “Hmm. I’m happy to be brought back to life, and that _would_ free up your friends, but I doubt you have a Spirit Caller of the necessary strength.”

Felix pointed at Hubert. “How about him?”

It was Hubert’s turn to be assessed by the ghost of Santa Claus. “How can you possibly have called me here in the first place - that cult!” Santa cried. “You’re from that cult, aren’t you! Seteth told me that they were all taken care of!”

“Splinter group,” Hubert said smugly, as though being part of a splinter cult was a source of immense pride and not kind of embarrassing. “Rather than killing off Santa Clauses, we sought to speak to their dead spirits and _understand_ them.”

“Hey quick question - what the hell?” Felix asked. 

Santa considered this. “You may be strong enough,” he said. “But I’m not quite sure I want some cult kid playing around with my soul.”

“It is not as if you can die a second time,” Dedue said in his low voice. “Even if we fail, you lose nothing.”

Santa considered this for several moments before finally nodding. “Fine,” he said. “I still don’t like it, but I’m not exactly swimming in options. Someone bring my body in here, and let’s get to work.”

***

When it was Ingrid’s turn to go down the chimney, she found herself just as nervous as Sylvain had been. After all, she hadn’t scared Santa into falling off a roof. Maybe the physics defying abilities didn’t extend to her.

But apparently Christmas magic made allowances for women who stupidly pledged their lives to this nonsense because they were in love with the person who’d accidentally killed Santa. As soon as Ingrid stuck one leg into the chimney, the world wobbled around her. Goosebumps erupted across her skin as space constricted. She felt like bread dough, her body squished and kneaded, pressed into spaces she shouldn’t fit but somehow _did -_ and then the world righted itself and Ingrid found she was in a very respectable looking living room. No one was around except for a cat, frozen in time as it groomed itself.

Flayn had been right about the presents too; Ingrid simply had to stick her hand into the bag and a gift would materialize at her fingertips. She hadn’t believed in Santa for years, but not she felt as giddy as a five year old again. Magic was real and in the world, and she was a part of it.

When she popped back out the chimney, Sylvain was waiting for her. “Isn’t the chimney thing weird?” He asked. “I felt like play-doh being shoved up some kid’s nose.”

“Ew,” Ingrid said, but she was laughing.

They continued on. Ingrid leapt down chimney after chimney, and occasionally squeezed through front doors if there was no other option. At first she took a moment to look at every room she entered. One house had a magnificent green velvet couch in the living room that Ingrid couldn’t stop herself from sitting on. Another had a vinyl of every Taylor Swift album framed and hung on the wall. One house that had an enormous portrait of the 11th U.S. president, James K Polk, hung so that it was the first thing she saw as she emerged into the room. His eyes seemed to follow her as she chucked presents under the tree and scrambled back up the chimney.

The houses started to blur together as she went, until time itself seemed unmoored and unreal. Perhaps this was part of Santa’s magic too. Any normal person would lose their mind if they had to do the same task over and over for millions of houses across the globe. Or maybe it was just the way her heart leapt each time she saw Sylvain waiting for her when she re-emerged onto the roof, or each time he rose up out of a chimney. He was always, always smiling at her.

So things were going really, really well. Until they weren’t. 

They were somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Sylvain and Ingrid were looking at the sky above them, trying to pick out constellations from the swirled haze of light. “It looks a little like that Vincent Van Gogh painting,” Sylvain said. He was pressed against her side with his arm wrapped around her “for warmth.” Whatever magic they’d been granted made them immune to the cold, but Ingrid wasn’t going to point that out. It just felt so _nice_ to have him beside her.

“It does,” she whispered. “Hey Sylvain, earlier when you asked about marriage -”

The sleigh shuddered.

“Nothing is wrong!” Flayn said. She yelped. “Everything looks fine up here.”

Ingrid scrambled forward to see seven different lights flashing on the sleigh’s dashboard. “Flayn,” she said, “that looks like a big problem.”

“Nope!” Flayn called, frantically flipping levers. “It is just a small hiccup!”

The sleigh shuddered again.

Now Sylvain was up too, clenching his jaw as Flayn practically flung herself several buttons. At least two more lights started flashing. “Flayn?” he asked. “This looks really bad.”

The sleigh went into free fall.

Even as Ingrid screamed in pure terror, she burst into action. One of her hands gripped the seat of the sleigh and the other seized Sylvain to keep him from going flying. Some animal part of her brain refused to let them be separated.

Flayn’s efforts finally accomplished something, and the sleigh evened out with a _thump._ Ingrid, Sylvain, and Flayn all crashed to the floor before scrambling back up. Several of the reindeer cast looks over their shoulders as if to ask _uh, you guys good back there?_

“What is _happening?”_ Ingrid demanded. “Are we out of magical gas or something?”

Flayn bobbed up and down from sheer nervousness. “The sleigh’s protective enchantment have activated. It seems that the sleigh’s magic is no longer entirely sure that you two are Santas. It keeps thinking you are intruders, then changing its mind.”

Ingrid and Sylvain stared at her. “Uh, how can we fix that?” Sylvain asked. “Do we sing Christmas songs really loudly? Say _ho ho ho_ in our jolliest voice?”

“There’s no way to fix it because it should not _happen.”_ Flayn’s hat had fallen off in her agitation, and she dropped her face into her hands. “It is a failsafe for in the sleigh detects that Santa is not present, but someone else is while the sleigh flies. It’s almost as if….the sleigh keeps changing its mind. But you are here! The past Santa is dead. Unless…”

“Unless?” Sylvain and Ingrid asked in unison.

The whole sleigh shuddered as Flayn bit her lip.”Unless perhaps the past Santa was not dead? Could he have simply been in one of your human comas?”

“I mean, he wasn’t breathing,” Sylvain said. “Mercedes checked for a pulse and he didn’t have one.”

Flayn squinted. “So, if he didn’t have a pulse, he could still be alive?”

Ingrid stared at her. “No. If he doesn’t have a pulse, he has to be dead. His heart isn’t beating.”

“The heart is the important one, is it not?” Flayn asked. 

“Very much so, yeah.” Sylvain squinted at the glassy ocean beneath them. “So...could someone maybe bring Santa back to life with your weird magic?”

Flayn snorted. “No. That is ridiculous.”

***

_**“COME FORTH!”**_ Hubert bellowed. The shadows of the candles danced wildly, pulsing and writhing as if they were about to come alive themselves. There was a popping noise as a lightbulb shattered somewhere in the house. Annette and Ashe screeched and dove behind Dedue. There was a distant hum, as though every soul that had ever lived were hissing and whispering just loud enough to be heard.

“ _ **I CALL UPON YOU FORTH FROM THE GREAT BEYOND**_ ,” Huber cried out. His normally quiet voice boomed in the small space. Dedue and Dimitri were gripping hands so tightly that both of their knuckles had gone pale. Even Felix looked ready to bolt. The only people holding it together were Edelgard, who stared at the body with grim determination, and Mercedes, who looked as if she was watching a particularly exciting episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

The corpse in the center of the room twitched.

“ _ **RETURN**_.” Every candle in the room flared, up, far larger than they should. Their light made the room look pale and faded, like an overexposed photo. Felix turned away, dizzy from the flaring and fading lights. Dimitri and Dedue were only looking at each other, twin lighthouses in the storm. 

“ _ **RETURN,”**_ Hubert screamed, and every light in the room went out. 

Mercedes scrambled for the switch. When the light returned, Dimitri, Annette, and Ashe were all in Dedue’s lap, Felix was holding a fireplace poker like a weapon, and a once dead man was sitting straight up, blinking in the sudden light.

“It worked,” Edelgard whispered in wonder.

Hubert grinned. “It worked.”

***

Ingrid glanced out of the sleigh at the glassy ocean below. Her chest felt about ready to cave in, but she tried to breathe slowly and stay focused. “Okay, what can we do? Should we try to land somewhere?”

Flayn glanced at one of the readings and went pale. “We are out of time,” she said. “Any minute now, the sleigh is going to drop again. The reindeer will not be able to keep us airborne. I do not know what to do.”

For a moment, there was only the sound of air whipping past them.

“Ingrid, I love you,” Sylvain said abruptly. “I’ve loved you for years. I never knew how to tell you.”

Ingrid’s head whipped towards him. “What?”

With an alarmed screech from the reindeer, the sled went into freefall once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The silliest thing I have ever written is now 3 chapters. I want to say that the next chapter will definitely be the last, but I'm afraid of jinxing myself. 
> 
> [Come say hi on twitter!](https://twitter.com/halcyon_autumn)


	3. Chapter 3

It was both comforting and horrifying that the last thing Sylvain ever saw would be Ingrid’s shocked expression as the sleigh plummeted. He’d sort of hoped she might shout a confession back to him, maybe even kiss him dramatically as they crashed into the icy waters below, but instead her face had gone completely blank. 

Okay well, maybe she’d just needed time to process. Maybe he was about to reject him, and he’d never find out because he was going to die. All things considered, Sylvain thought, going out in a way that let him completely avoid the consequences of his actions was very _him._

Ingrid met his eyes - and then turned to look at the reindeer. Of course, he thought, trying to ignore the way he was choking up. Of course she’d want to die looking at magical, horse-adjacent creatures instead of him. He should have expected - 

“Grab Flayn and climb on the reindeer!” Ingrid screamed, barely audible over the air rushing past them. “NOW!”

He had no idea where this was going, but he obeyed. Flayn squeaked as he scooped her up into his arms. He came to the edge of the sleigh, and then realized that he was going to have to leap straight onto the reindeer’s back.

Sylvain looked at the ocean. He looked at the reindeer. He looked back at the ocean. _Fuck,_ he thought.

Then he leapt. 

It turned out that leaping through the air and landing, bareback, on the back of an alarmed reindeer was like. Really hard. Sylvain tried to wrap his legs around the reindeer, but he slipped against the slick fur. Flayn managed to catch herself, but he nearly slid right off. The only thing that saved him was grabbing the harness at the last moment. 

“Sylvain!” Flayn yelled. He felt her tiny hands clutch at his, too weak to lift him.

The reindeer had pulled them out of a true free fall, but without the sleigh’s magic they could only slow the inevitable crash into the ocean. He glanced back at the sleigh, desperate for something to focus on besides his rapidly numbing hands.

And there Ingrid stood, hair whipping around her head like the halo of some forgotten saint. As he watched, she pulled something from the enormous Santa bag, then vaulted over the front edge of the sleigh like a valkyrie from legend. He actually gasped aloud in fear, but she caught herself far more easily than he had. He’d made so many jokes about her being a horse girl in high school, and now all those months she’d spent shoveling stalls in exchange for horseback riding lessons made her look like a genius. As she twisted towards him, he saw that she was holding a knife in one hand.

That was...a weird thing to dig out of the bag. 

Their eyes met. _I love you,_ Sylvain thought, but he couldn’t lose himself enough in that to ignore that his grip was weakening. Any moment now, he was going to fall. But maybe she and Flayn would find a way to save themselves. He shut his eyes and let himself pretend that his tears were only from the cold wind.

“Sylvain!” Ingrid yelled. He opened his eyes to see her sawing frantically at the ropes that tied the reindeer to the sled. “Hold on!” she shouted, and he wondered if the tears in her eyes were from the wind too. “Please, please just a little longer!”

“Only because you asked,” he said, but it was too quiet for her to hear. An odd zen feeling had stolen over him in the face of his imminent death. At least his friends were safe. Ingrid would have to be Santa alone, but she could do it. She could do anything. He’d probably have held her back anyway.

Ingrid screeched in victory as the rope snapped. The sleigh dropped and the reindeer rose, their own magic enough to keep them up now that the weight of the sleigh was gone. The only drawback was that the sudden shift in movement made Sylvain thump against the reindeer he was clinging to. And that thump was enough to jar him loose.

He heard someone scream, but now he was falling fast, and nothing felt real, and he just closed his eyes and wondered if he should pray for a fast end or try to remain theologically invisible from any deities who might exist. He’d die on impact, right? It shouldn’t hurt long.

Something slammed into him, far more gently than expected. “Sylvain!” Ingrid screaming, shockingly close, and his eyes flew open. There she was, half-hanging off of a diving reindeer, trying to drag him onto the thing’s back with her. 

“Ingrid!” he screamed back as if perhaps she’d forgotten her own name. He grabbed her hands and she wrenched him forward, onto the reindeer’s back.

“Uses your thighs to hold yourself in place!” she shouted. “And hold onto me.”

Sylvain was pretty sure he was dead, partially because he was soaring through the air on a magical reindeer, but mostly because he had his arms wrapped around Ingrid’s waist. He could feel her abs tense under his hands as the reindeer rose up into the air where Flayn and the rest of the reindeer were waiting. One of them grunted at him in a way he thought was maybe supposed to be encouraging.

“You survived!” Flayn cried. “Oh, I thought for certain that you would perish in the waters below, but you lived!”

“Uh, yeah,” Sylvain said. His heart was still pounding so hard that each thump made his whole body shake. He’d really expected to be dead by now.

Flayn had not finished waxing poetic. “Ingrid swooped in and saved you! How dramatic! And you clung to her for dear life!”

Sylvan just leaned against Ingrid’s shoulder, letting her hair tickle his face. “Thanks,” he whispered. “I really thought I was dead.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.” Ingrid interlaced the fingers of her left hand with his. “I couldn’t - I can’t do this without you.”

“I couldn’t do it without you either,” he whispered. It was the moment to say something dramatic and romantic, to kiss her in the moonlight all around them while they were both high on surviving near death. 

But Flayn _still_ hadn’t finished. “And now Ingrid can tell you that she loves you too!”

“What?” Sylvain and Ingrid asked. 

Flayn waved her arms with such enthusiasm that she nearly fell off the reindeer. “You just confessed to her! And she saved your life! Now is the moment!” 

“Um,” said Sylvain. The _one_ upside of nearly dying was that it was an incredible distraction from his confession. And now Flayn was dragging it up and throwing it in his face like a dead fish. 

“UM,” said Ingrid, more forcefully. She was resolutely facing forward on the reindeer. “I - that is, I - have some feelings.”

Sylvain snapped his head towards her so quickly he nearly lost his balance. “What feelings?”

“Some…..some feelings,” Ingrid said. She was still facing forward, but even from behind Sylvain could see her cheeks going pink. “For you. Specifically.”

He swallowed. “Good feelings?”

“Yeah.” Ingrid’s face was turning nearly as red as his hair. “Love, maybe.”

_“You’re in love with me?”_

“I said maybe! I don’t know!” Ingrid covered her face with her hands. “They’re complicated, okay?! And I’m still expecting you to tell me that what you said was a joke, so excuse me if I’m not good at expressing emotion!”

“It wasn’t,” he said quickly. He couldn’t bear the idea of her thinking that he was joking, not even for a moment. He touched her shoulder gently, hoping that she’d turn around and look at him. “Ingrid, I meant every word I said.”

She twisted around so that they were almost face to face. The world fell away - no cold air, no reindeer beneath them, no Flayn watching. Just Ingrid and the look in her eyes that he was desperate to decipher.

Then she kissed him.

 _Oh,_ he thought as her lips pressed against his. _Oh. I hoped it would be like this._

And then he wasn’t thinking at all, just kissing Ingrid, and touching her cheek, and running his hand through her hair the way he’d dreamed of for what felt like centuries. And she was kissing him back, fierce and certain, and that was more than he’d ever felt like he could ask for. 

They broke apart sooner than Sylvain wanted; it was hard to kiss for long when you were both bareback on a reindeer, and one of you had to twist around so you could be facing each other. But the moment she turned away he leaned against her shoulder, desperate for physical contact. 

“That was very nice,” Flayn said in her most polite voice. “I….I did think the confession would be a little bit better. But overall it was very nice.”

“Thanks Flayn,” Sylvain muttered. He could feel Ingrid laughing. 

It turned out that flying over the ocean in the middle of winter, suddenly stripped of your magic ability to resist the cold, was deeply unpleasant. Sylvain was relieved that Ingrid returned his feelings; if she didn’t, he’d have been forced to retain some sort of respectful distance. But now he was free to snuggle as close to her as physically possible, tuck his hands into her jacket pockets, and bury his face into her shoulder.

It was nice that she felt the same way, obviously, but by hour two, he _really_ needed the warmth.

Ingrid didn’t seem bothered by the cold. Sylvain suspected that the lure of riding on the back of a magical reindeer held her attention more than the temperature. Flayn stayed near them. The rest of the reindeer dipped and rose, giddy as five-year-olds who’d just eaten a king-sized bag of skittles. 

“I am a bit worried about us not reaching the Pacific islands,” Flayn said. “At least Australia is already done.”

“Maybe the elves can deliver the presents,” Ingrid said. “I’m not entirely sure why you need Santa Claus in the first place, actually.”

Flayn straightened up. “Well, it is laid down in the laws of the Old Magic, in the accords between humans and elves, that one human will be chosen to bridge the gap between the two peoples. The role of Santa evolved -”

“Magic,” Sylvain said. “We’ve got it. It’s magic.”

Flayn scowled at him. “Fine. The answer is magic.” She pointed in the distance, where Sylvain could see a string of lights. “We are approaching the shores of the Country of California!”

“It’s a state,” Ingrid said quickly. “It’s not a country.”

“Does it make laws?” Flayn asked. 

“Well, yes,” Ingrid began, “but -”

“It is a country then,” Flayn said, with extreme confidence. “You will be home soon. I will talk to the other elves and attempt to figure out what happened.”

 _Home,_ Sylvain thought. Home, but with Ingrid by his side, her hand in his, facing down the rest of their lives together. He smiled into her shoulder. Home sounded better than it ever had before.

***

Everyone had expected that bringing a man back to life would be odd. No one expected it to be quite so awkward.

Santa Claus sat at the head of Sylvain’s table, trying to ignore the smug looks that Hubert was throwing his way. He’d eaten a whole platter of fancy charcuterie meats upon being brought back to life. Dimitri was staring at the table and having a mild existential crisis. Felix was sulking about all the charcuterie meat that was now gone. Annette had locked herself in the bathroom. Dedue was subtly playing Cupcake Mania on his phone. It fell to Edelgard and Mercedes to make conversation.

“Do you like being Santa Claus?” Edelgard asked. “Is it, uh, fun?”

He considered this question for a moment. “It’s alright. There’s a stipend.”

“But no healthcare,” Mercedes said sadly. 

Edelgard stiffened immediately. “No healthcare?”

Santa Claus frowned. “Well no, but -”

Edelgard’s eyes narrowed. “You should have healthcare. Why don’t the elves provide it?”

Santa Clause was unprepared for Edelgard’s intensity. “Well, when I get a cold, one of the elves gives me a disgusting potion and yells at me until I drink it.”

Eyes blazing, Edelgard stood up. “That does _not_ constitute appropriate healthcare! Hubert, were you aware of this?”

Hubert’s eyes swiveled to Edelgard immediately. “I was not. Though, given the elves’ actions during the 18th century, it is hardly surprising.”

Dedue looked up, squinted at Hubert, and then went back to his phone.

“I think perhaps we can address healthcare at a later time,” Dimitri said, cutting off further explanation from Hubert. Edelgard still looked incensed, but sat back down at Dimitri’s pleading look. “We should - ah, that is to say - Mr. Saint Nicholas, will you be staying here?”

“I don’t have transportation,” Santa grumbled. “Since your friend stole my sleigh after he murdered me.”

“He didn’t - uh, that is - he didn’t actively murder you,” Dimitri said diplomatically. “I’d say it was perhaps manslaughter?”

“Maybe wanton endangerment?” Mercedes suggested.

Dedue looked up from his phone. “I’m not sure Sylvain could be legally prosecuted at all.”

Santa cleared his throat. “Are you done debating how exactly to label my death?”

“It’s not like it matters. You got better,” Felix muttered. 

Santa ignored him. “Anyway,” he said loudly. “I’m stuck here until one of the elves comes to pick me up. They should send someone soon.”

Edelgard leaned forward. “So we just….wait for one of the elves to show up and collect you? For however long that takes? On Christmas Eve?”

“You could leave,” Santa suggested.

Hubert stood to go, then sighed when he saw Edelgard was staying and sat back down with a thud. Everyone else shifted uncomfortably in their seats and wordlessly waited.

And waited.

And _waited._

At some point, Annette wandered in, looked at the recently re-alive Santa, turned on her heel and then marched back into the bathroom. They all heard the resolute sound of the lock clicking back into place. They all waited some more.

Finally, there was a knock on the door. It shattered the silence, and everyone burst into discussion with the desperation of convicts just freed from prison.

“That could be the police,” Edelgard said. “We should be cautious.”

“I can handle the human police,” Hubert said, disdain heavy in his voice.

“Why do people insist on calling them that?” Dedue muttered, quiet enough that only Dimitri could hear.

Mercedes tilted her head. “Do elves knock?”

Saint Nick stood, a glimmer in his deep blue eyes. For a moment he looked joyful, even jolly, the picture of the man they’d all grown up seeing in ads and hallmark movies as he strode towards the door. “Most don’t. There’s only one who would.”

The door opened to reveal a tall, pale skinned man with verdant green hair and eyes. He wore a deep, rich green robe and a severe expression that softened as he saw Santa Claus in the door. “Charles. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Charles?” Felix asked. “Is Santa Claus’ name _Charles_?”

Santa scowled at him. “My parents didn’t name me Santa Claus.”

Edelgard tilted her head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly. “Ah. So did you kill someone to take their place?”

Santa Claus - Charles - Santa Charles - ignored her. “Seteth,” he said. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a bit of a night.”

Seteth leaned around Santa, fixing each of the humans with an assessing eye. “I see that. Where is the sleigh? Where is Flayn?”

“Erm,” said Santa Claus. His joviality dimmed a bit. “Well. I, unfortunately, died a few hours ago.”

Seteth blinked. “You….died?”

“A bit,” Mercedes added helpfully. “But Hubert is quite clever, and managed to bring him back to life!”

Seteth stared at Mercedes, then Hubert, then Santa Claus. “Charles, did this strange, gothic statue-looking man bring you back to life?”

“Yeah,” Santa Claus said. 

“How incredibly rude,” Edelgard muttered. Mercedes shushed her.

Seteth pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. We’ll….sort this out later. The most important thing right now is finding Flayn.”

“She left with our friends Sylvain and Ingrid,” Dimitri said. “She said that they had to…..I believe the exact phrase was “take on the mantle of St. Nicholas?”

Seteth’s eyes narrowed. “So you let her go off with two strangers? One of whom had presumably just murdered the previous St. Nicholas?”

“Sylvain didn’t mean to kill Santa,” Dimitri said quickly. 

Seteth raised an eyebrow. “I do not find his status as an accidental murderer very soothing.”

Dimitri winced at Seteth’s glare. Felix was just opening his mouth to say something undoubtedly rude when everyone heard a low, bellowing honk from the distance. 

There, soaring in from the western sky, was a pack of reindeer. And right in front was Ingrid, the wind streaming through her hair, eyes bright, looking as if she was born to soar on magical creatures through the sky. And right behind her was Sylvain, his arms around her torso and his chin resting on her shoulder, looking completely at ease. And finally there was Flayn, ringlets bouncing as she waved hello to them all from the back of her own reindeer.

“Huh,” said Santa Charles.

“Hello!” Flayn screeched as they landed. She leapt off the reindeer and practically threw herself into Seteth’s arms. “Oh, I have so much to tell you! There is a new Santa! We nearly perished several times! And Ingrid and Sylvain are in love!”

“What?” Seteth asked.

 _“WHAT?”_ Dimitri and Felix yelled. 

Mercedes simply sighed and passed Dedue a ten-dollar bill.

Seteth blinked a few times, then smiled and hugged Flayn back. “I’m just glad that you’re safe. And it turns out that Charles is alive, so we don’t have a new Santa after all.”

Flayn turned towards the old Santa. Her mouth opened in surprise. And then her gaze snapped towards Sylvain with all the tenderness and mercy of a drill sergeant. “You did this! To get out of being Santa!”

Everyone turned to Sylvain, including Santa. Sylvain met his eyes and went pale. “Uh, sorry about the roof thing. Honest mistake. Glad that you...didn’t die?”

“I did actually,” Santa said casually. He jerked his thumb at Hubert. “The Walmart Nostradamus over there brought me back to life.”

“Cool,” said Sylvain, looking extremely disconcerted. “Very cool. Um, sorry for scaring you so that you fell off the roof and died. That’s - that’s my bad.”

Ingrid elbowed him. Hard.

“I mean sorry!” Sylvain said, rubbing his side. “I’m just a little out of my depth here but I’m very sorry for scaring you and indirectly causing your death! Please don’t invoke some sort of Santa vengeance thing and kill me.”

Santa eyes him for another long moment. Everyone held their breath.

“Fine,” Santa said finally. “But I’m bringing you coal for the rest of your life.”

Sylvain exhaled. “Fair enough.”

“Ah! That must be why the sleigh failed and we nearly plunged to our deaths!” Flayn cried out, extremely proud of herself. “The magic reverted to the older, more senior Santa, and saw Sylvain as an interloper!”

“Please don’t sound so cheerful about it,” Ingrid muttered. “We almost died.”

“But we did not!” Flayn’s enthusiasm, as ever, was undimmed. 

“So, that’s it?” Ingrid asked. “The old Santa is alive again, and Sylvain and I are...un-Santafied?”

Seteth nodded. “Yes. The old magic will recognize Charles - er, the previous Santa - over you both. The rights of Saint Nicholas - as well as the responsibilities - have been lifted from your shoulders.”

“Neat,” said Sylvain. “That’s….super neato.”

Hubert coughed, and somehow it sounded disparaging.

“It’s been a long night,” Seteth said, managing to sound equally disparaging. “I believe we should take our leave.”

“Goodbye!” Flayn said, waving cheerfully. Santa and Seteth settled for severe-looking nods before climbing on the backs of some of the reindeer.

“What a weird Christmas Even,” Sylvain said as they watched the reindeer disappear into the sky. “Maybe the worst one we’ve ever had.”

“It’s Christmas now,” Ingrid said softly, pointing east. The sky was just beginning to lighten, the midnight blue softening into something brighter. Soon the whole world would wake up, blissfully unaware of what had happened. 

“Merry Christmas,” Sylvain said, and leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

Annette squealed. Felix made a gagging sound, which made Ingrid turn around and immediately flip him off. 

“We probably need to get back to our various families,” Dimitri said. 

“Spend the night,” Sylvain said impulsively. “Or what’s left of it. Wake up and do Christmas at my house. You’re already here anyway. Edelgard and Hubert can stay too.”

“Hmm,” said Hubert, monotone and disapproving at once. But he glanced at Edelgard, who gave him an exhausted nod, and sighed. “I suppose that is...allowable given the circumstance.”

“Dedue is welcome too, obviously,” Sylvain said, bolstered by his success. “And Mercedes! And anyone else who - who wants to come.”

Mercedes beamed at him. “I would love to,” she said, and he felt both her fierce approval at the invitation and her mild reproach that it had taken so long to ask.

“I would prefer not to drive home after all this,” Dedue said, leaning slightly against Dimitri. “Christmas here would be nice.”

“I’ve gotta go home with my mom, but I can come tomorrow,” Annette said. She’d perked up considerably since Santa Charles left. Ashe nodded his own agreement.

Ingrid squeezed his hand. “I’ll stay,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

Sylvain tugged her closer as sunlight peeked over the horizon. “I’ll always want you right here with me.”

“Good,” Ingrid said, and they turned to watch the sunrise together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started as a joke and ended as my first ever completed multi-chapter fic, so BIG thank you to everyone who gave encouragement along the way. Big thanks especially to Mish and Rose (originator of the Walmart Nostradamus joke), who listened to me ramble about this fic and beta'd it. And as always, a big thank you to the Sylgrid and Felannie servers, who are filled with wonderful, supportive people.
> 
> And thank you for reading this DEEPLY silly fic. I had so much fun writing it.
> 
> Feel free to check out [my twitter](https://twitter.com/halcyon_autumn) for more fire emblem ramblings and fic updates.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mish, who let me send her snippet after snippet and laughed at all my jokes. Thanks also to SaccharineSylph who actually named the fic in about 25 seconds when I asked for help. And also always, thanks to the Sylgrid server, who have provided encouragement for my very, very silly fic.
> 
> If you're curious, here's the genre I envisioned for each character when I was writing this:
> 
> Sylvain and Ingrid - Hallmark Christmas Movie  
> Annette - Horror Film  
> Ashe - The only one who suspects that he's in a crack fic  
> Dedue - Drama  
> Flayn - Dramedy   
> Dimitri and Mercedes - A heartwarming tale of of friends working together to overcome obstacles  
> Felix - Thinks he's the only sane man in a comedy  
> Edelgard - Scandal (The Shonda Rhimes Show)  
> Hubert - Unfortunately, the [trailer for the gritty winx club reboot on Netflix, linked for your viewing pleasure/horror](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBMLbvA-MXg&ab_channel=Netflix). This will become more apparent next chapter.
> 
> I'm going to try to get the next chapter up on Christmas day, but it may be boxing day instead. Who can say. 
> 
> [Follow me on twitter](https://twitter.com/halcyon_autumn) for fic updates/fire emblem ramblings.


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